“If I’m writing something set on Mars, or in a Victorian submarine under the sea, or about fake spirit mediums in World War Two, some part of me really feels like I’m doing the work I’m meant to be doing”

Why aren’t I letting myself have the same freedom as a writer that I grant myself as a reader? Why don’t I let myself write what I love, regardless of whatever the apparent genre of it might be?

I’m fascinated by authors who can plant themselves in all kinds of terrain. Russell Hoban is one example. Michael Chabon is another. Here he is talking about the experience of — and reasoning behind — his involvement in the movie adaptation of Edgar Rice Burroughs’s Barsoom adventures. (Coincidentally I’m posting this while watching a video from Neil Gaimain’s Wheeler Centre appearance in which he talks about his concern at being pigeonholed.)

Hand-coded in HTML5 and CSS3 on an Apple Macintosh using Sublime Text 2. Type set in Franklin Gothic and served by Typekit. Colophon embellishment (‘Manticore’) from The History of Four-Footed Beasts and Serpents and Insects (1607) by Edward Topsell. Icons by IcoMoon.